The Soldier and the Rabbit (ON HIATUS)
by FillerText
Summary: I have realized that one simply cannot write a story and its sequel at the same time. Therefore I am putting this on hiatus until I finish 'The Life of Hana Song'. Sorry for the inconvenience!
1. soldier meets rabbit

_Will probably update once a week. Concerns a lot of characters from the Overwatch universe- almost all of them will make an appearance at some point. To make it clear, I do NOT ship Hana and Jack- it's more like a father-daughter relationship. All comments are appreciated._

Unaware of how intimidating he looked as he marched down the hall at six o' clock in the morning, rifle slung over his shoulder, Jack Morrison rustled one-handed through the packet of papers that contained the briefing on Overwatch's newest recruit- an agent that went by DVA. He skimmed through her profile- _'easily excited, young, and impressionable'? Is this a_ soldier _I am being sent to train, or a_ puppy _?-_ before cramming the paper into his largest pocket.

The door he had been instructed to go to- numbered 416 in silvery metal- was marked also by a large, obnoxiously pink sticker of a cartoonish rabbit. Straightaway, warning bells went off in his head- warning bells that signified that Jack had most likely been assigned some young punk who had very little combat experience.

Why had he ever agreed to this? Training a new Overwatch initiate was time-consuming work that Jack no longer wanted to take part in. In addition to that, Ana had given him very little information on the new recruit, except for the packet of papers containing the recruit's profile… which he had not bothered to read, as she probably had expected. _We'll see about this, you old fox,_ he huffed to himself.

He was about pound on the door when he heard some high-pitched voice squeal, "That was a close one!"

The slightly muffled voice continued from behind the door: "Aaaaand that's what you get for doubting me, you losers! Told you that was going to be a record time, I _swore_ to you, and some of you still didn't believe me! Mark it down, somebody… how many games was that?"

Who was she talking to?

Jack's first impression was that she was on the phone. Something about winning a game, too… For a moment, he stood there, uncertain. If he were interrupting something-

Wait, what was he thinking? This was an Overwatch agent. The utmost discipline was required to be on the job, and this DVA character was _playing games on their first day at base?_ Slightly indignant, he pushed aside all of his concerns and rapped smartly on the door, bellowing, "Agent DVA! I require your presence _immediately._ "

His gruffness must have startled her, because a loud crashing sound emanated from DVA's room, along with a smattering of cursing fit for a sailor. Jack listened to the scampering of feet, and then BAM! The door swung open, hitting Jack square in the face.

He stumbled back, eyes watering and face smarting from the blow. "SHIT!" He wiped away at his eyes hastily, realizing how undignified he must appear. Jack straightened, finding himself staring straight at a young Asian girl.

She was short- she stood almost a head below Jack. She had shoulder-length black-brown hair, which ran in waves from an oversize headset jammed atop her head. Dressed in pastel pink footie pajamas, the girl looked, for all the world, some tyke that had just returned from a slumber party.

The first foolish thought that popped into Jack's head came out of his mouth before he could stop it. "Who are you?"

Apparently annoyed by the lack of recognition, the girl frowned, leaning against the doorframe with arms crossed. "I'm your 'Agent DVA'. Didn't you call for me? Interrupting my stream and everything. My fans will be _so_ pissed," she grumbled. That high-pitched voice… so it _was_ DVA.

Jack was in shock. Then shock turned into confusion, which switched quickly over into anger.

"But… Jesus Christ. You're a _kid,_ " he said bluntly. The last time someone around her age had joined Overwatch was back when Jesse McCree was still a blundering teen recruited into Blackwatch. And even then, Jesse hadn't been quite this young…

DVA snorted. Jack still couldn't get over her tiny frame. "Well, compared to you _,_ maybe. _You're_ an old man. But I'm old enough to fight, and isn't that all that matters?" She glared at him, slightly pink in the face. A direct challenge to his authority, as far as Jack was concerned.

In response, Jack heaved his gun, Peacekeeper, down into his hands. He wished he had brought his visor with him, so that he wouldn't have to directly receive DVA's accusing stare.

"Whether or not Overwatch sanctioned your recruitment or not, I don't know… but I certainly didn't." _What was Ana thinking, recommending someone like this to me? 'I have a feeling you'll like this assignment,' she had said cryptically._ His feelings grew more determined as he spoke. He'd seen too many young lives changed forever on the battlefield… or brought to an end altogether.

"You're not old enough to fight. You're going back to Korea, DVA _,_ " he said with gruff certainty.

* * *

"Certainly not," said Ana immediately.

Jack felt himself flush as Hana beamed at Ana. She grabbed Jack's arm, who flinched as she yelled, "See! What did I say to you?!"

Jack pulled away roughly, though an unfazed Hana continued excitedly: "Does that mean I'm not just a part of the Korean military? I'm an Overwatch agent, too!"

"Ana-" he started, but the stately voice of the veteran sniper cut him off gently.

"I know your feelings on this, Jack," she said. "But if she's old enough to enlist in Korea's MEKA program, then she's old enough to be here. What is that thing you always say…?" Amusement crept into the woman's voice. " _'We're all soldiers now_ '. Besides, you weren't that upset when McCree joined up, back in the day."

Having his own 'catchphrase' used against him stung more than he'd like to admit. "She doesn't belong here," he insisted adamantly- he pretended not to notice as Hana drooped a little, perhaps disappointed in how little faith he had in her.

"Besides, this isn'tthe same situation. Jesse had nowhere to go. And-" Jack was grasping at strings here, and he knew it, but he was so close… so close to getting Ana to give in, he could _feel_ it!- "You didn't want Fareeha to join, did you? You-"

Ana's expression changed slightly, and Jack saw the hurt that was there in her remaining eye. _That was a mistake,_ he realized too late, and backtracked. "All I'm saying is… we have more options now," he fumbled.

 _Fuck._ This hadn't been the first time he'd been too harsh with his words at a crucial moment. He had never liked giving those speeches to the UN, or being at all those press conferences- Jack was a man of action, not a man of words. Unfortunately, to be the commander of Overwatch, he had to have been a man of both.

 _If I had been better at speaking, would Gabriel have stayed-?_

"Work with her before you complain," said Ana stiffly, and colder than ever. She stood from where she had been seated at the balcony, turning to face Jack head on. "Besides, a bit of young blood can do you a world of good… you just don't know it yet. It was nice speaking to you." And with that, she was gone.

Jack scratched at his head with a heavy sigh. Ana had always had a soft spot regarding children... and yet even he hadn't expected her to be so severe in her defense of DVA.

He noticed DVA staring at her, her round eyes boring into him. He noticed that they were so dark they were almost black. "What is it?" he asked, gritting his teeth. "Don't think I've accepted you as a soldier just yet." His voice turned into a growl.

To his surprise, instead of shrinking away, she shot back, "You will. I'll make you." Something fiery seeped into her tone as she reaffirmed, "You have to indoctrinate me, right? And then you'll have to admit, Morrison-nim, that I'm worthy enough to stand here. With you."

As she stepped defiantly away, Jack stared at her retreating figure. And he remembered something that hadn't been on his mind for years.

 _Jesse's face was hidden under the brim of an old-fashioned ten-gallon hat, one that Commander Morrison had long ago learned not to laugh at. The usually lighthearted teen was wearing a white hospital gown that matched the sterile walls of the hospital visiting room he sat in. Commander Morrison almost wanted to chuckle at how out-of-place the boy looked, who was usually covered in dust and soot. No doubt the kid was raring to get out of the hospital and back on the field…_

 _The smile died on Morrison's lips as he saw the unusual stillness in Jesse's body. He strode over to him and was about to seize the boy by the shoulders when he saw…_

 _Jesus Christ. The kid was missing an arm._

 _For a moment, Commander Morrison was at a loss for words. "Jesse, what…"_

 _Jesse McCree looked up at Jack from his position on the bed. The old fire was still there in his eyes, sure, but it wasn't the same as it had been… more like a glimmer than anything else._

" _Lost me arm," the cowboy drawled, his Southern accent seemingly more intense than ever. "Hurts like hell, as you can imagine." He grimaced as he gestured with his remaining arm. "But enough about me. How's Gabe… er, Commander Reyes?"_

 _Morrison thought he would handle something like this better. After all, he'd seen his fair share of gruesome injuries before. But seeing Jesse lying so still, expression so somber, was a sight that ingrained itself into Morrison's mind. "He… Gabriel didn't tell me that this… any of this…" What could he say to the boy? How could he possibly…_

" _He's blaming himself," huffed McCree. He shifted slightly in his seat. "Tell him- tell him that it was my fault. I shouldn't have run in like a fool. Was being a beans-for-brains-"_

" _Sure, I'll tell him, kid," cut in Morrison. There was no need to work up Jesse. He almost patted the boy's shoulder, before remembering the damage that had been done to him. Shakily, he rested his hand on Jesse's head._

 _This never should have happened. Not to him. He was too young._

" _Alright, then, kid. I… I'll go find him."_

Jack was brought back to the present with a start. He was leaning against the wall, hands numb, shivering. He realized with a shaky breath that his face was covered with a thin veneer of cold sweat.

A flashback? Was that what it was? Jack put his hand to his head, which throbbed like hell. He wiped his face with his hands, which were still shaking.

"Goddammit," he said out loud, just to make sure his voice was still working. " _Goddammit."_ He sat down, back against the wall, hands on the ground to stabilize himself.

"Jesse McCree is gone," he breathed. The entire boy's future had been destroyed by battle- first by his involvement in the Deadlock gang, then by Blackwatch. Just like that.

That little girl, DVA, join Overwatch?

 _Not if I have anything to say about it._


	2. child soldier

_Morrison pushed Ebreer's damp curls away from her face, gently, so as not to disturb her. The Chilean agent's body had grown disturbingly cold in the short time that it had been in Morrison's arms. Morrison had fought enough wars to know a dying woman when he saw one._

 _He should have felt sad, definitely. Angry, maybe. Guilty, probably._

 _But no, in the moment, Strike Commander Jack Morrison felt nothing but emptiness._

 _It was always difficult losing old friends and senior agents. One day, they'd be smiling in the rec room, cursing at the puck as they tried to score goals against others over the air hockey table. The next day, in their place would be a letter with a fancy red wax seal, listing the accolades they'd won posthumously. Almost every letter began with 'Our condolences…' and signed at the bottom would be Morrison's name. As in,_ This is the man you should blame.

 _Like some kind of sick joke, Morrison always got sent a copy of the letter as well._

 _Morrison presumed that families who were used to having their relatives in active duty would take the news relatively well. Death was an inevitable thing, and Overwatch agents faced it every day. They would know that. They_ should _know that._

 _On the other hand, the parents who had just gotten used to the fact that their kid was off fighting a war… to receive that letter would be devastating._

 _And so it was when the rookies fell that hurt Morrison the most. The hope drained away. There was no more glittering illusion of an 'ideal future', or 'a fight for honor and justice'. War was war, and death was death, and Death would just keep taking and taking until there was nothing left._

 _Death was a fucking thief, and there was nothing that Morrison wanted more than to punch his teeth out._

 _How many people had he lost? Morrison couldn't remember. He stared at Ebreer Fuente's face, hard, to memorize every single detail. Curling brown hair. A tan complexion, slowly going pale from blood loss. A narrow chin, thin nose, full lips, and large, brown eyes, presently closed._ I will remember you.

 _It was his fault, wasn't it? Trainees were never placed in combat situations until at least a full year of training. But laughing, scathingly sarcastic, and popular Agent Fuente had blitzed through training in half the required time. She'd visit Morrison every day, complaining about the ease of the course, showing him her marks in all of the subjects. Not to brag, but to try and convince him to promote her._

 _Okay, maybe partly just to brag._

" _Boss, I'm not doing anything," she'd say, grinning. "I'm not learning anything. And I'm not helping anyone. Guess who's to blame for that?" Finger guns pointed at Morrison. "All I'm asking for, Boss, is a chance to prove myself. You haven't given me any yet."_

Call me Commander, not Boss, _he'd protested, but she'd always brush it aside like it was nothing. "Boss, c'mon. Just promote me before I die of boredom in the training facility, instead of out on that field."_

 _One_ okay, _two weeks, and a failed operation later, there she was. Bleeding all over Morrison._

 _Modern-day pirates usually kept their loot in the heavily guarded ship's hold, and the pirates in this case were no different. Morrison had picked Ebreer to accompany him down while the rest of his division held off the pirates. The guards were easy enough to pick off- too easy, in fact…Morrison's senses had been tingling,_ something is off, _so he had stuck out his arm towards Ebreer, who had been cheerfully going on ahead, the word_ wait _on his lips. And then she'd triggered the frag mine and been shredded through with shrapnel._

 _He still remembered the look on Ebreer's face when he caught her. Not panic, nor fear or pain. Just confusion._

 _No one expects to be the one to die until they do._

 _She had been gasping for air through Swiss cheese lungs, staring up at the ceiling, as Morrison plastered her wounds will all the meditape in his bag. Not that all the meditape in the world could save Ebreer now._ If only I had brought Angela with me, then she would live _, he found himself thinking. Another fucking mistake. Dr. Angela Ziegler was a thousand miles away in Afghanistan._

" _Boss, how… how d-do… I look?"_

" _Call me Commander," Morrison replied immediately, but there was no bite to his tone this time. Ebreer closed her eyes, a grin growing on her face. Blood had already soaked completely through the meditape in her abdominal region._

" _You… said they took… down the c-coms system, right?" How fucking perceptive of her._

 _Morrison abandoned the meditape. Even he saw that they would do no good at this point. He cradled Ebreer's head in his lap, straightening out her arms, then leaned back against the wall. The lack of light in the ship's hold made it difficult to make out the blood that was now practically everywhere. "Mine's still working," he lied. "I've… I've called down the medic. She'll be here in a moment."_

I should have brought Angela. I should have brought Angela. I should have brought...

 _Ebreer laughed- a horrible gargling sound that made Morrison want to die. He_ wished _he could die. "You… you always underestimate m-me. I'm smart…er than t-that."_

 _And there it was. No meaningful last words, no pleas for the sake of humanity, no encouraging words. Ebreer went silent. And by the time they were found, everyone knew that she'd never speak again._

"Ebreer," he said to himself.

"What's that?"

Jack looked up. Agent DVA was standing in the doorway, holding aloft a breakfast tray. She had her headphones on again, and was still decked out in pink footie pajamas. Jack could hear the faint strains of a guitar riff echoing from her headphones.

He stabbed at his French toast vehemently. The fork he was using snapped in half, sending the tines flying. "What are you doing here?" Couldn't the punk just let an old man reminisce in peace?

"Amari-nim told me that you were supposed to me at the lunch room, but you weren't there. What's a Breer?"

DVA sat down across from Jack, leaning forward in her seat to catch Jack's answer. _Fuck. She heard that?_

"A 'breer' is a reckless shithead," he replied casually. Which wasn't exactly a lie. 'Reckless shithead' summed up Ebreer's actions leading up to her death wonderfully.

Jack watched as DVA struggled to open a sealed container of ice cream. He almost offered his assistance, when he remembered that he was supposed to be discouraging DVA from joining Overwatch.

She finally managed to get it to open, and dumped the container's contents over her steaming plate of pancakes- an action that so reminded Jack of himself as a child that he almost cracked a smile. "Why'd you call me that- a _breer,_ or whatever? I haven't even done anything." DVA frowned, then gulped down a generous amount of hot chocolate. "I heard from the others that you were kinda aloof, but seriously… I didn't expect you to be _this_ rude."

Others? "Who've you been talking to?" asked Jack, curious in spite of himself.

"Genji and Ziegler-nim," she replied promptly. She poured syrup all over her ice-cream covered pancakes. As Jack watched the amber liquid pool onto her plate, he wondered if the girl would die of diabetes before even starting training. "They said that you 'intend well', though, so I was willing to give you a chance."

Here she paused to look directly at Jack. "In this case, I think they were wrong." She sounded casual. "Do you mind telling me why you hate me so much?"

The mug of coffee's handle shattered in under the force of Jack's grip, spilling boiling liquid all over the table and onto the floor. As it burned on his hands, Jack pinned DVA down with an incredulous stare. "Who the hell told you that I hate you?"

"Isn't it obvious?" asked DVA, sounding confused. If she was surprised at Jack's breaking of the mug, she didn't show it. "You knew me for like, an entire _three seconds,_ and then you tried to kick me off the team. Instead of meeting up with me in the morning like you were supposed to, you went skulking off on your own to avoid me. I had to go looking for you. And now that I've finally tracked you down, you call me a reckless shithead." Jack felt himself go hot- the way DVA put it, he did sound like a major asshole.

"Maybe we just got off on the wrong foot," she continued, sounding cheerful. "Let's start over. My name's Hana Song, and I'm going to join Overwatch, whether you fucking like it or not." She stuck out a hand full of napkins. "Use this to clean up the coffee."

Jack took the napkins, slightly mollified, and unsure of what to say. How was he supposed to react to this? Even if he _was_ acting like a breer, it was for good reason. "DVA-"

"Call me Hana," she interrupted. "DVA sounds stupid. I just put that as my StarCraft username because I thought it was clever at the time. I was only seven."

And there it was. The classic, unbridgeable gap between the old man and the tech savvy, gaming teenager. The last time Jack had done something remotely complicated with a computer instead of leaving it to Winston or Mei had been before he and Gabe had blown up the Swiss HQ. "StarCraft?"

"You know, the game?" Now that the entire why-do-you-hate-me question was out of the way, Hana seemed perfectly content to chatter on to Jack, despite his lack of responses. "StarCraft's what got me connected to Genji and Amari-nim in the first place. Not to brag, but I was pretty damn good at it." She grinned at Jack as she stuffed her face with pancake. "Think what you want, but I'm not completely useless."

Ignoring that last little jab, Jack sopped up the coffee in a few quick motions, before tossing the wet napkins over his shoulder, where he knew they would land in the trash can. Sometimes it was the most useless things he could do with his enhancements that got him appreciating them the most. "All right, then. Here's a question for you." Jack had done his homework last night, and finished the DVA profile that Ana had gotten him. It turned out that Hana Song was actually very well-known to just about everyone but him. "You're famous, aren't you? And by consequence, you're rich. Why join Overwatch? Hell, why bother work at all? You could probably retire by now." _Please_ just retire.

Hana finished shoveling down the pancakes and looked up at Jack, wiping off her syrup-covered face with a little pink handkerchief embroidered with the DVA motif. Ever the little lady. "Do you get how the world works _at all_? I can't retire. Contract with the military, yada yada yada." She waved the sticky handkerchief airily. "All sorts of legal bullshit that I don't wanna deal with. Besides, what's it to you? You have one job. Just do as you're told and train me."

Jack couldn't believe his ears. How arrogant _was_ this kid? "You seriously think you can handle being out-?"

"I'm not just some rookie _,_ Strike Commander Morrison," interrupted Hana, scowling. She looked as almost as pissed off as Jack felt. "You don't have any idea how many missions I've flown. I started piloting a MEKA when I was just fifteen- fourteen in American time zones, actually. I'm nineteen now. Five years of work experience, and you're treating me like a child?

 _What?_

"You say you joined up when you were fourteen," Jack said quietly.

Hana quirked an eyebrow. "Yes?"

Sure, Jack had broken his fair share of laws in both his Overwatch and his vigilante days, but recruiting child soldiers had always been where he drew the line. "Isn't that illegal?"

Hana folded up her handkerchief and tucked it away into her back pocket, apparently not bothered whatsoever. "…Yes? And, in case you didn't know, so is the reformation of Overwatch." She popped a piece of bubblegum into her mouth and began chewing vigorously. "Lighten up, old man. Times have changed. Rules have been broken." She leaned back in her seat, crossing her arms, looking like an especially petulant child. "C'mon, Morrison-nim. All I'm asking for is a chance to prove myself. You haven't given me any."

 _Finger guns pointed at Morrison. "All I'm asking for, Boss, is a chance to prove myself. You haven't given me any yet."_

"Um… dude? Are you okay?"

Jack realized suddenly that he hadn't said anything for a while. Hana's head was tilted, and her face was sporting a look of concern. Mentally chastising himself, Jack gathered his food tray- _the old memories can wait-_ and stood up. Hana watched him apprehensively, no doubt vying for a positive reaction.

The irony of holding the title 'Strike Commander' and having to take orders like _teach the little girl how to kill people_ was not lost on him. If he had the power to, Jack would drag the kid out of the room by the ear to the next plane that took off for South Korea.

Though, from what he had gathered from their little conversation, Hana Song would be in even more danger back at home than here, training at Gibraltar. It was a matter of picking the lesser of two evils. A difficult choice, but almost all of Jack's life had been dictated by difficult choices.

Jack made up his mind. "Meet at training room 04 in two hours," he said roughly. He hardly paid attention to Hana's victory _whoop!_ as he left the room, heading down the hall….

…an ominous feeling of déjà vu settling into his bones as he went.


	3. of alcohol and dragons

_A wild Hanzo Shimada appears! TW: He's an alcoholic._

Training was not quite what Hana had expected.

Instead of letting her get into her MEKA and start blowing up stuff, Jack Morrison-nim forced her to do all of her target-hitting with her light pistol. Hana's protests on how she did less than ten percent of her combat out-of-mech failed to get through to the man, who simply shook his head and barked out "Toughen up, soldier!" like some sort of drill sergeant.

And so she stood there, light pistol in hand, shooting at training dummies with sloppy red circles painted onto their bodies. She half-expected the man to ogle her silly skintight suit, which screamed _fanservice!_ in a way that she still couldn't get over.

He didn't.

In fact, he completely ignored her appearance for the most part. And instead of complimenting her on her exceptional aim, he merely grunted out an "acceptable" after she hit her sixth headshot in a row.

Another thing Hana hadn't expected? In a way, being around the soldier was sort of… refreshing.

Ever since her debut as a star gamer, Hana was surrounded by media attention day and night. International icon DVA couldn't go a single day without worrying about the silliest things in order to please her fans - like the possibly political nature of her latest tweet ('Goodnight to all of my fans in Taiwan!'), or if the clothing she was wearing showed too much skin (it was just a tank top, for goodness's sake!)

By sharp contrast, Soldier76 judged all of her actions all too harshly, but only on the things that really _mattered-_ such as _,_ whether or not she was good at shooting stuff up or not. _Move your arms up to compensate for recoil, keep your shoulders relaxed, reload faster-_ As he stood around and berated her for her lack of endurance with infuriating condescendence and a grating voice, Hana felt like doing something she hadn't done in a while.

Namely, actually _trying._

For the rest of the three-hour training session, the old man made her run laps, do push-ups, and shoot more targets, all the while barking out one order after another. It was rewarding but very difficult work.

By the time it was over, Hana was so sore that she couldn't walk straight. She leaned against the wall, gulping down some mineral water (Morrison-nim had forced her to ditch the soda), and then set down the bottle only to find that he was gone.

"Bastard," the Korean girl muttered under her breath. As she gingerly stretched out her leg, the familiar burning sensation of reconstructing muscles flared up under her skin. A few more motivational curses, mainly aimed at 76, and Hana was moving.

She stumbled down the hall, body aching already, knowing that waking up tomorrow was going to be hell, a tired grin pasted on to her face. Hana was sure that these training sessions would garner Morrison's respect eventually- it was just a matter of working hard until then.

 _Just a matter of time,_ she reassured the uncertain part of her mind. _He'll see, in the end…_

Hana limped past the double-doors of the room she and Morrison had dined in. The room looked like a storage closet from the outside, and was so out of the way that the only people who ever used it were only in there to avoid interaction with others.

With a pause, she realized that light was filtering through the crack in the door, scattering glowing dots into the dark hallway. Her lip quirked up into a frown- _did we not turn off the lights? Or maybe someone is inside?_ She pushed the door open, peering inside. _But only losers like the old man sit here..._

Inside of the lonely white room was a man sitting at the round table, atop a chair that Hana had occupied just that morning. He wore what appeared to be a faded navy kimono(?), and his black hair was swept back in a topknot. His face looked to be chiseled from cold, uncaring stone.

The man- Japanese, Hana guessed from his state of dress- looked up instantly, dark eyes flashing, as if she'd walked in on a secret. Hana struggled to hold in a giggle- everything about the man was so comically _serious,_ as if he were the main character in a poorly written fanfiction. The way he _held_ himself- stiff, arched back, arms folded in front of him… Despite her efforts, a spurt of laughter escaped as the man's expression turned into one of intense bewilderment.

"Sorry, I… I, just…" Would it be strange to just leave? All Hana wanted to do was go to her room and sleep. _If I walk away now, I'd forever leave a bad impression as the random girl that laughed at him._ She made up her mind and crossed the threshold with a few, purposeful steps over to the table. Hana Song, with all of her misgivings, disappeared with every step, and DVA was gaining control. _Smile, and remember, everyone loves you!_ she reminded herself. It was a shallow statement for shallow people but God, did it work wonders for Hana's self esteem.

By the time she sat down across from the man, all of her awkward hesitation was hidden well away. She smiled and stuck out her hand, only deepening the man's confusion. "Hello! I'm DVA, but you can just call me Hana. I'm new here, so we might've not met."

To the man's everlasting credit, he gathered his wits extraordinarily quickly, especially given the situation (namely, having a sweaty teenage stranger in a skintight suit walk up and attempt to introduce themselves).

He stared broodingly down at the glass cup that sat on the table. "My name is Shimada Hanzo," the man said gravely. He reminded DVA of Soldier76, if Soldier76 was a depressed, younger Japanese man. They had the same serious baritone, and the same bothered look about them. "Part of the Overwatch taskforce."

"You are?" Strange. Hana didn't recall seeing him at her welcoming party, which even Morrison-nim had attended (possibly forced to by Tracer). _Maybe he was out on a mission._ "I am, too." Her eyes traveled to the man's bare arm. Coiled around it was the tattoo of a dragon.

She'd met someone, long ago, with a similar-looking tattoo*. Unpleasant memories filled her mind, along with memories from her first encounter with Genji. A smile lit on her lips as she focused on the latter, this time a genuine, bonafide grin.

"You're from Japan, yeah?"

Hanzo's arm twitched. "…Yes."

First order of business: find something in common they could talk about. "Do you know a guy named Genji?" Hanzo and Genji were both part of the task force, so Hana assumed that they'd have met at least once, being from the same country and all. She leaned in closer, a lock of hair slipping over her face with the movement. "He's one of the first people I met from Overwatch, and he's from Japan, too."

For a moment, a stricken expression passed over Hanzo's face, so quickly put under control that Hana knew she wouldn't have noticed it if she weren't so used to reading people's emotions during press conferences. He composed himself quickly (again), but avoided Hana's eyes.

"I… do not know him very well," he said slowly. "But we have indeed met." This formulaic answer only served to heighten Hana's suspicions, but she was too tired to push it any further. Obviously the two men hadn't gotten along very well, in any case. Maybe it was a case of clashing personalities- Hana couldn't imagine the humorous, completely zen Genji anywhere near this guy.

Shimada wasn't finished. "How do you know Genji?" he asked, his deep voice careful. Hana crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair, ever so tempted to respond with a _How do_ you _know Genji?_

Instead, she grinned, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. "He was one of the first people to rejoin the reformed Overwatch, yeah? And when they were scouting for people to hire, they found me. Japan's pretty close to Korea, so they sent him to interview me out of convenience. He's a pretty cool guy." Behind her neutral expression and nonchalant tone, she observed Hanzo's reaction carefully. The man seemed to be lost in thought, hands fiddling with a cup of- wait, was that _sake?_

Her hand shot out and closed around the cup, pulling it away from a surprised Hanzo. He looked up, brow furrowed. "Hana-san?"

"How many cups have you had so far?" Her tone was bitingly cold as her fingers curled around the cup, which smelled strongly of alcohol. Hanzo blinked in puzzlement, but Hana didn't care about leaving a bad impression anymore. Seeing as she wasn't going to offer any further explanation, he stared at the cup, as if the answer was sloshing around somewhere inside of it.

"That would be… my third," he said at last, and Hana _finally_ recognized the slightly red tint to the man's angled face, the slurred _t'_ s.

Blood was pounding in her ears; adults drank all the time, it was stupid, and she knew she shouldn't be upset but she _was._ The words came spitting out before she could stop them. "Do you realize how terrible alcohol is for you? You're- it's- it's slow suicide, is what it is." And suddenly it wasn't Hanzo she was lecturing, but her mother, dead drunk and clutching a glass of _soju_. "You get into this habit, and your life could be over, just like-"

Suddenly it was back to Hanzo staring at her, not her mother. No, not staring- _watching._ The realization of what exactly Hana was doing hit her in full force.

There was an awkward pause as she sat there, pulse pounding. The image of her mother burned away in her head.

"….Sorry," Hana exhaled. The cup clinked against the table as she set it down. "I didn't mean to…. Well, you really shouldn't drink, is all I'm saying," she finished lamely. She held her trembling fingers down. _What came over me?_

"You are correct." Hana looked up. Hanzo was still watching her, contemplatively rolling the cup in one hand. The dragon tattoo rippled around his arm, almost as if it were alive. Probably a trick of the dim lighting. "Alcohol is most certainly a terrible substance. However…" And here he tossed back the rest of the sake; Hana's eyes widened.

Hanzo slammed the cup back onto the table with a hoarse cough. "Those who have never drunk it will not understand," he finished dryly. His dark eyes were piercing.

 _It doesn't matter if I've never drunk it. I, of all people,_ do _understand._ Hana saw her mother in her mind's eye once again, though she forced herself to take on a joking manner. She choked out a laugh. "Don't be lame. There are better ways to get through life than substance abuse."

Hanzo simply shrugged in response, unhooking what appeared to be a bottle from his belt. He uncorked it and poured its contents into the now-empty cup with practiced ease. Hana felt sick.

 _He's destroying himself._ She hardly knew the man, but all of a sudden, some irrational sort of concern was seeping into her body. "Dude, seriously, you should stop. I-" Hanzo was looking at her again, curiously, but this time she couldn't bring herself to look into the man's eyes. "I can't watch this." She stood abruptly. As she left the lonely little room, she could feel Hanzo's gaze boring a hole into her back.

* * *

It took a hot shower, an hour-long streaming session, and a bowl of instant ramen for Hana to stop thinking about her mother.

Hana found that it was gaming that helped her to forget the most. When she was planning a Zerg rush, she was too busy to reflect on what had happened, or what was going to happen. She'd lived her entire life that way- trying to forget, burying it away, creating a towering pile of emotions and messed up thoughts that she knew would one day bury her as it collapsed. Hana was a girl of the present.

Nothing else mattered.

Nothing else _should_ matter.

Her thoughts kept circling back to Hanzo, sitting all alone in the poorly lit room. Sake was by no means a weak drink, and from the sheer smell of it, Hana knew whatever brand Hanzo bought was strong stuff. Yet the man had been chugging it down like it were apple juice.

Hana's mother had drunk to forget, and Hana was almost completely sure that it was the same case for Hanzo. In a way, she could understand the man's feelings. All she wanted to do was to forget, too.

 _But there are better ways to do it,_ she thought absently, fingers rattling across the keyboard as she destroyed yet another StarCraft pro wannabe's hopes.

As the words VICTORY flashed over her screen in gold, Hana crunched on her favorite _El Dorado_ chips, wondered what 76 was up to. The old man was probably reading some boring mission briefing for the hundredth time. She tried to imagine him having some kind of fun, and choked on her chips.

 _Maybe I'll pay him a visit._

* * *

 _*This is a reference to Mr. Seon in my other fanfic_ The Life of Hana Song, _but don't worry if you're not reading it right now, because I'll explain more about Hana's past in here later._


End file.
